Sandcastles in the Sky
by flickedswitch
Summary: The after effects of chemo create a situation that, while first thought to be a hindrance, becomes exactly what is needed. Set Post-Elegy s4e22.
1. Chapter 1

**SANDCASTLES IN THE SKY**

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This story was written for the X-Files Easter FanFic Gift Exchange (2019) created and orchestrated by OnlyTheInevitable\\\ gaycrouton.

Easter Fic gift for: Spooky66

Prompt: _"I loovvveee early msr and/or pre-series. I also LOVE AUs, early series, cancer arc, pre-series, total au (loovvveee aus) gots to be msr and I'd appreciate some smut please!"_

NOTE: The timetables referenced within this work aren't entirely canon. Don't let that ruin your reading pleasure. It's not ignorance on my part, it merely meant to be fun, so let it be fun.

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**Post-Elegy 4x22**

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_"The doctor said I was fine."_

_"I hope that's the truth."_

_"I'm going home."_

Mulder kicks himself all the way home for letting her walk away. Scully may think she's hiding it well, and perhaps when it comes to everyone else she is. But not with him. He sees it. He sees the fear, sorrow, and avoidance. He sees every last bit.

He's well aware of the fact that making this about him only makes him more of an asshole, but that fact has done little to dampen the frustration that boils up from within him every time she dismisses the significance of what is happening as if it isn't his burden to bear as much as it is hers. She is so much more than his Watson. She is everything. And without her, he is nothing.

By the time he reaches his car, it's nearly 10:00 p.m. and Scully is gone. He considers driving by her place to check on her but thinks better of it. Regardless of how terrible she feels following her treatments, she never calls in or complains, even when it's quite apparent that she doesn't feel well and is absolutely exhausted. He wants more than anything to take care of her … to do something to soften the blow that his quest has inflicted on her health, but Scully has remained steadfast in her independence, keeping him at arm's length and refusing to let him in. Whether she's doing it to protect him or herself is unclear, but either way, it's disheartening.

He arrives at his apartment in a haze. Removing his jacket and slipping off his shoes, he doesn't bother to lock the door behind him as he collapses on the couch and buries himself in its familiarity. The bubbling hum of the aquarium helps to calm and lull him into a state of peaceful contentment that borders on sleep. But instead of succumbing to it, he fights it.

One would think that someone with his history and paranormal fixation would have nightmares, but he doesn't. In his dreams, Mulder doesn't see Armageddon or little green men. He sees something far worse. He sees what could have been.

He sees Samantha running along the beach behind their summer home in Quonochontaug.

He sees a healthy and vibrant Scully watching him, and a young boy building sandcastles in the sky alongside spaceships.

He sees a little girl with long strawberry blonde hair and crystal blue eyes who calls him daddy.

But Samantha is not in Quonochontaug, and he and Scully will never have children.

For this reason and so many others, Fox Mulder rarely sleeps. He doesn't even own a bed.

Rolling to his back, he pulls off his tie, untucks his shirt, and stares up at the ceiling. He's contemplating getting up to retrieve a tape from his collection when the cell in his pocket begins to ring.

"Agent Mulder."

"Mul — er?"

"Scully?"

He asks not because he isn't sure, but because there is something in her voice that is foreign to him.

"I … I'm hav—in' a little trouble," she says.

_Holy fuck_, he thinks. Is she drunk?

She's doing her best to hide it, slowing her words in an attempt to keep them from all slurring together, but if her first full sentence is any indication, she is most certainly more than a little under the influence.

"With what? Are you alright?" he asks, sitting up and slipping on his shoes in anticipation of leaving.

"Yeah," she replies, keeping her response short as she subdues a sniffle.

Dread and guilt flow through him as he realizes that the change in her voice isn't solely due to the indulgence of alcohol. She's been crying. Had his words about working against him sent her home in tears? The possibility immediately unsettles his stomach. His intention had been to encourage her to be more open and to no keep things from him, not to make her cry.

_Fuck, he's an asshole._

"I'm okay," she insists, doing her best to clear her voice and sound as normal as possible. "I'm not sick. I just … I need … I would call my mom, but it's late and … I'm a bit out of it."

"No, I'm glad you called. What are you having trouble with, Scully? What's wrong?"

"I just … I can't …"

"You can't what?"

"It's stupid," she says, her voice dazed and muffled in a way that indicates to him that she's hanging her head or covering her face, if not both.

"If it's something you need, then it's not stupid," he says softly, encouraging her.

"The chemo," she says, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, "one of the side-effects is residual weakness and stiffness … especially in the upper extremities around the port."

The slow, precise, and guarded way that she is speaking now makes her sound almost normal. While she's clearly struggling to voice what's going on and why she has called, she's not as out of it as he first thought. In fact, the more she talks, the more lucid she sounds.

"Scully, I'm not sure that I understand—"

"I can't get my shirt off, Mulder."

_OH._

"I would just cut it off, but … it's … it's a shirt Melissa bought for me, and I just can't … I'm sorry I—"

"Scully."

Her name comes out a bit louder and more commanding than he intends, so he immediately softens it.

"I'll be right over."

"Okay," she says quietly. "And … could you … could you use your key?"

The request surprises him, but he doesn't question it.

"Yeah … I can do that."

"Okay."

When she doesn't hang up and lets the silence hang, he hastens his movement, grabbing his go-bag, badge, gun, and jacket as he heads out the door.

Scully never asks for anything. Not really. So the fact that she has called and that she is hesitant to hang up the phone and be alone for the short period of time that it will take for him to reach her apartment immediately alerts him to the fact that this is about more than saving a shirt.

"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No … no … I'll see you in a few minutes," she says softly. "Thank you, Mulder."

Before he can respond, the line goes dead.

—

When he arrives at her apartment just before midnight, he hesitates briefly at her door. Scully had asked him to use his key to enter, but even with her permission, he's still inclined to knock and announce his arrival.

With her having been the victim of home invasions in the past, the last thing he wants to do is startle her.

"Scully? I'm here."

"Back here," he hears her say from somewhere in the back.

Assuming she's in her bedroom, he slips off his shoes, removes his jacket and places his bag, gun, and badge on her coffee table before proceeding to the back.

"Scully?" he asks again, slowing as he reaches the threshold of her door.

"In here."

What he sees as he enters her bedroom and looks into her bathroom breaks his heart. Scully is soaking wet with a large towel wrapped around her torso.

"I thought that if I got in a hot shower I could get it to loosen up enough to pull it off, but getting off a wet tee shirt is harder than I remember it being," she says, reading the question in his eyes.

"Interesting. I wouldn't have pegged you as being a wet tee shirt contest kind of girl, Scully," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood and put her at ease.

The smirk that plays across her lips as he speaks allows him to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Which shoulder is it?" he asks softly, taking on a more serious tone that relays his concern.

"The left."

"Is it tender to the touch?"

"A bit."

"Would massaging it help?"

"Maybe."

Closing the distance between them, he gestures for her to reposition herself on the toilet seat to give him better access to her shoulders. When his hands come into contact with her wet clothing, he's taken back how chilled her skin and clothing feels.

"Jesus, Scully. You must be freezing."

"The hot shower was a good idea until it wasn't."

"Here," he says, reaching for a towel hanging up alongside the tub and draping it over her right shoulder.

"Why don't we move into the bedroom? I think you'll be more comfortable sitting on the bed."

"Okay."

He starts to step away to give her some space to move, but as she stands and turns she loses her balance and falls into him.

"Muscle relaxer," she mumbles by way of explanation, clearly embarrassed by the fact that she's half dressed, soaking wet, and can barely stand.

Looking at her now, the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to come together. She's not drunk, she's in pain, and based on how she is stumbling about, she has either taken more than the recommended dose or has taken the medication for the first time. Given how much weight she has lost since starting chemo, it's entirely possible that whatever she took has impacted her more profoundly than she anticipated.

With him stabilizing her, they move quietly and with purpose into the bedroom where she settles awkwardly on the edge of her bed. As he watches her move and adjust herself accordingly, he can't help but notice how tightly she is clinging to her towel.

It hadn't occurred to him until that very moment that she was likely only wearing a tee shirt and bra when she got into the shower. And with her shirt being soaked, she probably hadn't bothered to put on anything else when she got out.

Suddenly, Mulder is very thankful that her back is to him.

In an attempt to distract himself away from what lies beneath, he begins to rub her shoulder, but quickly draws back when she flinches.

"No … no … it's okay …. it's just … tender."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, really. I think it will help. It's just uncomfortable."

Placing his hands back over her shoulder he begins to knead, but this time he doesn't put as much pressure through the tips of his fingers.

"Is this why you have been wearing mostly button-down shirts?"

His question appears to catch her off guard because she immediately peers over her shoulder at him and gives him a questioning look that indicates that he's been paying more attention to her than she has given him credit for.

"The button-downs are easier. My shoulder has felt almost normal for the past few days, so I thought I would be okay to wear this but … apparently not."

"How many shirts have you cut?"

"Just one."

"You could have called me."

"I didn't care about that one, so it was easier just to cut it."

"Well, it does feel like it's loosening up a bit. What time did you take the muscle relaxer?"

"A little after 11:00."

He wants to ask her how many she took but thinks better of it. The last thing he wants to do is piss her off or make her regret calling him to begin with.

"It appears to have loosened up everything except my shoulder. This …" she says, pausing and wincing as his fingers make their way over a particularly tender spot.

"Sorry," he says, lightening his touch.

"This is the first time I've taken them. I've had them for a little over a month, but haven't wanted to take them knowing I could be called out in the middle of the night for a case."

"Scully, why didn't you talk to me about this? If you were in pain, you should have just …"

"I'd rather feel the pain than feel completely out of it."

"Do you feel completely out of it? Because you don't sound completely out of it."

"I feel … numb, tired, and like I shouldn't be up walking around."

"Well, that much is clear," he says smirking and nodding his head towards the bathroom causing her to chuckle in response.

She's relaxed now. The tense embarrassment that he saw in her face initially is gone.

"How do you want to do this, Scully? I think we may be able to get it off now, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

To this, she blushes a bit and turns her head back forwards.

"It's nothing that you haven't seen before, Mulder."

She's not wrong, but this is different, and they both know it."

"Or have you forgotten?"

It's difficult to tell if there is any actual heat behind her words since she's facing away from him, but the tone of her voice and tension building in her body as she reaches down to tighten her hold on the towel clues him in to the fact that there has been a shift in the paradigm. He's honestly surprised that she's mentioned Antarctica.

Mulder is a lot of things, but unobservant isn't one of them. He's watched her fidget with her clothing and caught her lingering glances along reflective surfaces as they pass. It's subtle, yet blatantly obvious that she is uncomfortable with the amount of weight she has lost, and the last thing he wants her to be as he undresses her is self-conscious. So for this reason, and this reason alone, he is candid.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten."

He keeps his hands on her as he speaks so he can feel her reaction to his words. When she does turn her head to give him her eyes, he does everything in his power to relay how much he respects her — not wanting his words to be translated as being perverse.

Without words, they begin to rearrange her wet shirt in order to pull it off. Her left shoulder and arm are still bit stiff, but between the two of them, they are able to twist it around without stretching the shirt too terribly. She still sitting with her back to him, but he can feel her wince at the end as they work together to pull it over her head and off of her arm.

"Sorry," he says as he helps her bring her arm back down and tosses her shirt to the side.

Bringing his hands back to rest over her shoulders, he moves fingers firmly across her skin in an attempt to relax her, noting that the clasp to her bra is in the back. She hasn't asked him to undo it, but he knows after helping her with her shirt that she is not going to be able to undo it herself unless she removes the straps and flips it around. Lowering his hands to work along her middle back, he works his way down until his hands are alongside the clasp. Fearing that talking about it will only serve to make it more awkward, he waits for her to indicate that she is ready.

When she gives him a slight nod, he undoes it and runs his hand down her back.

"Do you want me to grab you another shirt or your robe?"

"No, I want to take a shower."

"Are … are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I think I'll be alright," she says, removing the bra completely and placing it off to the side as she rearranges her towel to cover her breasts.

Even with her back to him, he can still see enough of her body to make his dick harden, which immediately fills him with shame. He should turn his back to give her some privacy, but he doesn't. He can't take his eyes off of her. Even with the weight she has lost, she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

"Okay," he says, snapping himself out of his trance and taking a step back.

He's about to step out and give her some privacy when she turns to stand and stumbles. Cursing, Mulder makes his way to her side instantly, narrowly managing to catch her before she hits the floor.

The realization that she's dropped the towel hits them both at the same time. She gasps, her eyes widening in shock as his hand grazes over her breasts and settles along the bare skin of her torso as he works to pull her body up and stabilize her. Now, with her standing directly before him completely nude, there is no way for either of them to reach down and pick up the towel without creating contact. Doing his best to distract himself away from the fact that he is holding a very naked Scully, Mulder keeps his eyes glued to hers as he guides them back towards the bed, grabbing the extra towel they had brought in from the bathroom.

No words are spoken as she takes it and covers herself.

Her face is difficult to read. It's clear that she's embarrassed, but there is something else there too. Something he can't quite place.

Not wanting to linger too long in dangerous waters, he states the obvious in hopes that she will just lay down and rest.

"Scully, I'm not sure that taking a shower right now is a good idea. The last thing you need is to fall and hit your head or break something. Let me grab you a shirt or something. You can take one in the morning," he says, trying desperately to not think about how soft her skin is and how amazing it felt to touch her breast.

"No. I feel gross. I want to shower."

"Scully, you can hardly stand … "

"A bath then."

"Is it really that critical that you—"

She doesn't have to interrupt him to silence him. The look she gives him says it all.

"Fine, but I'm running the bathwater, and you're going to stay right here."

"Mulder …"

"Scully."

Now it's his turn to give her a look. He's more than willing to indulge just about anything when it comes to her, but her safety is not up for debate. If she's going to insist on taking a bath, he's going to draw it for her and help get her settled. He can tell that the idea does not necessarily enchant her, but he also knows that she's well aware of the fact that she is no condition to insist otherwise. Her mind is sound; her body just isn't cooperating.

"Fine."

Retreating to the bathroom, Mulder turns on the water and begins to shuffle through her bathroom cabinets in search of a bath salt or soap that would help her relax while also serving to give her a bit of privacy. He doesn't trust her to call for him when she's finished, and she's not going to be able to get in or out without stumbling.

_Fuck._

How in the world is he going to get through this without his hard-on being on full display? It's not like she's drunk and so out of it that she won't remember his dick poking at her through his clothes as he helps her settle into the tub. If he doesn't find something to help cover her a bit as she bathes he's going to come in his pants.

Spotting some bubble bath in the cabinet under the sink, he grabs it and pours a liberal amount into the running water as he checks the temperature. Not wanting it to be too hot, he adds a bit of cold and tests it again. Satisfied that it won't burn her, he returns to the bedroom where he finds her sitting exactly where he left her.

Without a word, he helps her stand and guides her into the bathroom where they are both greeted with a sight that takes them both by surprise.

Thankfully, Scully begins to laugh.

"FUCK."

"You poured it in didn't you?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says, walking her through the mess of overflowing bubbles and positioning her to where she can safely sit on the toilet seat beside the tub while he fruitlessly fights the massive mountain of bubbles cascading out of the bathtub and onto the floor.

"It's the good stuff," she tells him, nodding towards the open bottle sitting on the counter. "You only need a cap full."

"Well, I think it's fair to say I used more than a cap."

"Clearly."

He turns to face her, expecting her to be irritated. Instead, he finds that the color has returned to her cheeks. For the first time in weeks, she's genuinely laughing and smiling. He's always thought she was beautiful, but as she sits before him clad in only a towel with bubbles floating around her, she's breathtakingly beautiful. Painfully so.

"Why the bubbles, Mulder?" she asks.

The teasing smile playing on her lips is enough to let him know that she is well aware of the prominent effect her state of undress is having on him.

"I thought it might help you relax … and give you a bit of privacy."

Using the side of the tub and the countertop to stabilize herself, she stands, letting the towel fall to the floor as she does.

This time, he doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes up. With her permission, he takes her in, and this time he does so thoroughly. Extenuating circumstances prevented him from fully appreciating her in Antarctica, but nothing of the sort is stopping him now.

If it weren't for the circumstances at play, he would be lunging forward and backing her up against the wall, but he stops himself short of doing so because no matter what their bodies are saying, now is not the time.

His body longs for hers more than it has longed for anything else in this world, but he doesn't want it to happen because she thinks she's dying. As much as he wants to be the one to relieve the sexual tension that is so clearly coiled up inside of her, he can't let it be just about that. Not with them. He can't be her one-night Ed Jerse.

Taking her hand, he guides her to the tub and helps her step inside, shutting off the water as she lays back and settles herself under the bubbles.

"Sorry," he says, settling himself alongside the tub swatting at the bubbles floating around in the air.

"Don't be."

The soft smile that plays across her lips as she settles her head on the rim of the tub calms him. Whether it's the drugs, the late hour, the company, or a combination of the three he cannot be sure, but he's certainly not complaining.

He is, however, curious.

When he saw earlier in the evening, she was closed off to him and insistent that she do this alone, which is precisely why he had pressed her and accused her of working against him. Had his words to her at the scene really impacted her that deeply? Or was something else at play?

"Not that I'm complaining, but why not call your Mom? You said you were out of it on the phone, and to be honest, when I first heard your voice, I thought you were … but you're not."

She turns to face him briefly, giving his question pause and musing over her words carefully before allowing them surface and give weight to the air between them.

"I don't want her to see," she says softly.

Despite the quiet tone she has taken, her words are firm and steady, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence that he is tempted to fill. But sensing there is more, he remains silent, fiddling with the bubbles alongside the outer lip of the tub as he waits. The ball is in her court. Letting him in has to be her choice.

"When I'm working, it's easier for both of us, because it almost makes things normal. She's used to me working all the time."

"Scully …"

"She was sitting right next to Melissa when she coded. She shouldn't have to watch me die too. I can't … I just can't do that to her."

"You're not going to die, Scully."

"But I am dying, Mulder. I know you don't want to see it or deal with it, but I am. It's happening. You want me to let you in, but I don't think you understand what that means."

"Do you?"

"I wouldn't change a day," she says, repeating the words she uttered to him months earlier.

If he weren't already hopelessly in love with her, the way she's looking at him now would have certainly sealed the deal. Lifting her hand up to the edge of tub she seeks his, intertwining her fingers with his.

For the next few minutes, no words are spoken as they gaze into each other's eyes.

She breaks the moment, but not the mood when she lets go of his hand and moves to sit up, grabbing a bar of Ivory soap from the other side of the tub.

Bubbles cling to her body as she rises, allowing her to maintain some semblance of modesty, but as she runs the bar of soap across her shoulders, chest, and arms, it becomes clear that modesty is not high on her priority list.

"Can I ask you something, Mulder?" she asks, snapping him out of his longing leer. "Something personal?"

"You can ask me anything," he tells her, lowering his hand to rub across his hard-on as he continues to watch.

"Do you … do you ever wish things were different?"

"What things?" he asks, watching her closely.

Silence fills the air as her boldness wains and her eyes drop, he shifts to position himself closer, catching her eyes and asking her again.

"What things, Scully?"

"Like … do you ever think about going a different direction? About having and wanting something normal?"

The last thing Mulder wants to do is break the seriousness of the moment, but he can't help but chuckle at the idea of him and _normal_ being in the same sentence.

"Scully, of all things for which I am certain … I am certain that my definition of _normal_ will not hold up against the Webster version, so you're going to have to be a bit more specific. Are you talking about work? About doing something other than the X Files?"

"No … not necessarily."

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about life outside of work."

"Okay," he says, giving her a look at the encourages her to continue.

"Do you ever miss it, Mulder?"

"Miss what, Scully?"

"The touch of a lover?"

Just when he thought he might potentially survive the evening without coming in his pants, she has to go and ask him a question like this.

Leaning deeply into the cabinets behind him, he contemplates how he is going to respond. The answer is a no-brainer. Of course, he does. But he doesn't desire a quick roll in the hay. Sex is no longer the only thing he desires.

"Or do the videos do it for you?"

The mere mention of his video collection makes him smirk, knowing damn well she would be far less likely to prod him about it if she knew that every video he owned starred a petite red-head.

When he watches, he never sees them. He only ever sees her.

"Mulder?"

Not wanting to make her nervous or uncomfortable by remaining silent for too long, he decides to be candid. She is, so he will follow suit.

"The videos relieve tension, but my hand is a poor substitute for the real thing."

"Well, there's a long list of secretaries that wouldn't mind your company. I've seen the way they look at you," she says, tilting her head to meet his eyes again.

Despite how turned on he is by the turn the conversation has taken, he can't help but appreciate just how surreal it is. He just finished settling her naked body into a bathtub after disrobing her, yet, here she is, trying to shift him towards an alleged long list of other women who wouldn't mind his company.

"And how do they look at me, Scully?"

"Like they would be more than willing to act out what's on those videos."

"And just what do you think is on those videos?" he asks, now curious.

What does Dana Scully think Fox Mulder likes?

"I imagine it's a fairly standard guy script," she says vaguely, a soft pink hue spreading up through her neck and across her cheeks that is definitely not an artifact of the warm water.

"And what might that entail?"

Part of him feels guilty for digging in and not letting it go, especially given that she's taken medication that has undoubtedly loosened her tongue, but now that she's brought this to the forefront he really wants to know.

"Oral … Doggie …"

"Is that what you think I like?"

She's quiet for a moment, gauging his expression as her body shifts slightly underneath the water.

It suddenly occurs to him that he hasn't seen her hands in quite some time. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is.

"It's what most men want," she says evenly.

And just like that, Mulder hates every man that has ever laid hands on her that much more. If that's what she believes all men want, then she certainly hasn't been loved or treasured. All she's ever been is fucked. The realization both sickens and enrages him, but he doesn't dare let it show. Not tonight. Not like this.

"I'm not most men."

To this, she chuckles, turning her head to the side and looking straight into his eyes.

"If you're referring to your infatuation with alien life-forms and the paranormal, then I would have to agree, but primitive drive is primitive drive, Mulder. It only has one objective."

"What makes you think my primitive drive would involve oral and doggie?"

What was a pink hue, is now a full-fledged red. He knows he's pushing boundaries, but he can't leave it like this. He can't walk away having her believe that his fantasies align with her previous experiences.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," she says, suddenly finding something of interest within the bubbles as she averts her eyes.

"I'm not," he says, leaning forward and touching the side of her face to redirect her eyes back to his. "Scully, I do miss a woman's touch, but casual sex doesn't interest me. It hasn't interested me in a long time."

"Mulder … what happened with Jerse … it … it wasn't what you think," she says quietly.

_Fuck._

"Scully, I wasn't … that wasn't an attack on—"

"I know."

Sitting up tall, she pulls the bar of soap above the surface of the water and places it back on the ledge.

"It felt good to be wanted … to have someone's desire so blatantly pressed against me."

The gentlemen lurking inside of him knows that he should stop her and tell her that whatever happened isn't any of his business and that it doesn't matter. But he remains silent because it does matter, and he does want to know.

"We … we fooled around, but … he didn't … we didn't."

Unable to hide his surprise, he gives her a questioning look.

"His tattoo … it started bleeding, and by the time we got it stopped and cleaned up he was … different … off …. and didn't, uh, seem all that interested anymore."

Of all the things he expected to have gone down on the night she spent with Ed Jerse, this was not among them. She had been willing, and in his state of psychosis, he had been unable to perform.

Suddenly, a lot of things begin to make sense to Mulder.

Scully had let him believe that she had spent a passionate night in the arms of a stranger because the truth didn't make much of ballot. While she may have appreciated his jealousy, he no longer believes that making him jealous was her primary objective. Leaving his assumptions unchecked had been more of an act of self-preservation. She and Jerse had fooled around, and then Jerse had given her his shirt and turned her away. Rather than seeing the situation for what it was, Scully had walked away from the encounter feeling unwanted and unattractive. The fact that Jerse had strangled and beat the hell out of her the following morning certainly hadn't helped matters.

"Scully, Jerse was psychotic. Him not …"

He stops himself short of saying wanting you, deciding instead to allow her to fill in the blank.

"It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. I can assure you that."

It's more clear to him now than ever that her discontent with her self-image has just as much to do with that night as it does her weight loss. Fucking Jerse.

"Regardless," she says, taking a weighted breath. "You were right. It was careless. He could have killed me."

"But you didn't know that," he says to her softly. "Not at the time."

Now having heard the truth about what had transpired that night, he's filled with remorse for how he treated her when she returned. She was free to see whomever she pleased. She wasn't his. He desperately wanted her to be, but she wasn't. Not in the way he wanted her to be anyway.

Scully had wanted to feel something. Something real. Something primitive. And instead of being her friend and being compassionate, he had acted like a selfish, jealous asshole.

"It's okay to want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated, Scully. I'm sorry that I made you feel otherwise."

His apology earns him a shadow of a smile as she picks at her pruning fingers.

"What if all it taught me was that I didn't want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated?"

"How normal of you," he says, a chuckle rumbling in his chest and a smile spreading across his face.

Flicking bubbles at his face, she joins in on his laughter and gives him her eyes. The dark hue within them is something new. He knows he should look away to keep from making her uncomfortable, but he can't. He's too entranced — swallowed whole by the deep end of the ocean.

"The water's getting cool," she comments, fidgeting under his gaze.

"I'll grab you a fresh towel."

Springing into action, he turns away from her quickly in an attempt to hide the effect she has on him. The guise of privacy that the bubbles provided has dwindled significantly over the course of the last 20 to 30 minutes. He hopes like hell the bath has helped to ground and settle her because he's not sure that his body can withstand drying her with embarrassing both of them.

"If there aren't any more under there, there should be more in the hall closet."

"Okay," he says, looking under the cabinet. "Looks like we are in luck though," he says, handing her the clean towel as he helps her stand and step out of the tub. "Although, I may need to grab a few more to deal with all of this."

The bubbles have made a mess of her bathroom floor, leaving it wet in some places and sticky in others.

"Once I help get you settled, I'll come and clean this up."

"It's okay, Mulder. I can get it in the morning."

"No. I'll take care of it."

Unsure of how stable she currently is, he stands before her awkwardly and waits for her to give him some sort of indication on what she needs him to do.

"I think I can handle it from here … thank you, Mulder."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to fall."

"I'll sit," she said nodding towards to toilet. "Would you, uh, mind grabbing me a shirt and some pants out of my dresser though? I keep them in the bottom drawer to the right."

"Yeah, no problem."

Once she's seated, he slips out of the bathroom and makes his way over to her dresser to retrieve her clothing. Opening the bottom drawer to the right, he finds numerous oversized tee shirts. Most of which appear to be from her college days, but there is one in particular that jumps out at him — because it's his.

It's an old Knicks shirt that he has been looking for off and on for several months now. When he had been unable to locate it after cleaning out his car and gym locker, he had just assumed that he had left it in a rental car or hotel room somewhere. He never thought to ask Scully if she had seen it.

While it's possible that she washed it and forgot about it, he highly doubts it, given its prominence in its current location. Grabbing his shirt and pair of her flannel pajama bottoms, he returns to the bathroom, knocking three times as he enters.

The expression that crosses her face when she sees that he's discovered his shirt in her pajama drawer is priceless. She had not sent him to the bottom drawer on the right to make this discovery, but now that he has she is grappling for an explanation that will be less explicit than the truth. The truth being - Scully has been sleeping in his shirt because it provided her comfort, and she liked the feel of it against her skin. He doesn't have to ask. He can see it in her eyes and the expression on her face.

If the circumstances were different, he would let her squirm, but tonight he's going to let her off the hook, injecting humor into an awkward exchange in a way that only he can.

"If I would have known you had a hankering for the Knicks, Scully, I would have bought you a tee shirt a long time ago."

Blushing, she accepts the shirt from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Mulder. I—"

"It's yours."

The effect his words have on her hits him like a brick. At first, he's not sure, but when she drops her towel and reveals her body to him once again, he's certain.

Scully is aroused. Painfully so.

The dark hue of blue within her eyes and pert nipples revealing the depth of her desire.

"Scully, I …"

"You can touch me, Mulder."

Taking a step closer to her, he runs his fingers down the lengths of her arms causing them both to shiver as he gazes at her body.

"I … you have no idea how much I want to … how beautiful you are … but … I can't, not like this. Not tonight. Not when you've been in pain and are on medication that could cloud your judgment. I would never forgive myself if you woke up and felt like I took advantage of you or the situation."

"My judgment isn't clouded … it's emboldened, and it's not meds talking, Mulder. It's me. Life can be … short. We spend so much time just … running. I want something normal, but not from a stranger. I was willing to get it from a stranger when I thought that was the only way I could get, but … it wasn't ever really what I wanted."

"What do you really want then, Scully?"

"Something deep, complicated, and dangerous," she says, swallowing thickly. "Something passionate and loving … something real … that will make me feel alive with the one person I desire."

"Then we both want to the same thing," he says, his voice gruff with desire.

They both lunge at the same time.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he pulls her body firmly against his and drops his head to capture her lips. When his hands raise to cup her breasts she gasps, opening her mouth and allowing him to explore her fully. Even with the weight she's lost, she still fills his hands. Touching her feels better than he ever could have imagined. No video, fantasy, or wet dream even remotely compares.

Not wanting to consummate their relationship on a wet bathroom floor or countertop, he begins to guide her towards her bedroom where he can lay her out and properly explore. By the time he's done, there will be little room for her to doubt her appeal and desirability. He is going to devour her in the best possible way, and he's not going to stop until he takes her breath away.

By the time they reach the bed she's unbuttoned his shirt and his slacks. He breaks their kiss momentarily to remove his undershirt, but immediately returns his lips hers, devouring her and stealing the breath from her lungs as he presses her bare chest against his for the first time. The moan he swallows as her breasts rub against his nearly makes him come on the spot. Scully is going to be vocal in her pleasure. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is and fills him with the desire to hear just how vocal she actually will be.

Breaking their kiss, he halts her wandering hands and looks down into her eyes. Having blocked her hands from reaching their intended destination, he lowers his to cup the rounded cheeks of ass, squeezing and kneading as he draws his fingers closer to the place he desires most.

"Are you sure, Scully? Absolutely sure?" he murmurs in her ear.

Grasping his hand, she guides him to her center, allowing him to feel how soaking wet she is.

"Is that sure enough for you?" she mumbles, rubbing her nose across the stubble of his chin as she presses her breasts into his chest.

The discovery of just how soaking wet she is strips away at Mulder's resolve and pokes at the primitive beast within him, driving him forward.

"I think our bodies know exactly what they want, but do our minds? This can't … it can't just be a thing, Scully," he says, swallowing thickly. "You mean too much to me. I can't be your Ed Jerse. I won't survive it."

"Oh, you're no Ed Jerse, Mulder. You're deep, loving, dangerous, and passionate," she whispers, repeating back her earlier words as she runs her lips across his chest.

When his fingers begin to move, she drops her forehead against his chest and watches as his fingers explore her sex and circle her entrance. The realization that she likes to watch is his undoing.

"Get on the bed, Scully."

Mulder quickly removes his socks and slacks but opts leaves his boxers in place as he crawls onto the bed to hover over her.

_FUCK, she's beautiful._

And now, in this very moment, he has a chance to make her his. Not Ed's. Not Jack's. His.

"Mulder?" she asks, looking down at the tenting erection still covered by his boxers.

"To keep me in check."

"In check?"

"So that I can do this," he says, lowering his hands and lips to explore her body one section at a time.

While his mouth explores her neck, his hands fondle her breasts, rubbing the tips of his fingers across her nipples as his licks, nips, and kisses his way to down fully explore them with his mouth. When his mouth reaches her breasts, his hands lower to caress her thighs and ass. He is touching her everywhere except for the very place she desires him the most.

"Please," she gasps, raising her pelvis and rubbing her wet center against his stomach. "Touch me, Mulder."

Smiling, he sweeps his tongue across her nipple and shifts his hand to rub his fingers through her center, thoroughly soaking them in her arousal before raising them to circle her clit.

_"Oh … fuck,"_ she moans, catching him off guard.

He had suspected she would be vocal after the kiss, but the f-bomb had not been something he had anticipated. His Catholic, conservatively dressed partner of four years is completely naked beneath him, throwing her head back, cursing, and begging him for more. Removing his lips from her breasts, he looks down between them and watches her hips chase his hand as he picks up the pace.

As much as he's enjoying the erotic image their bodies make, he knows his body will fuck him over if he doesn't move things along. He can feel, hear, and smell her arousal, but it's not enough. Lowering his body, he pulls his fingers away and replaces them with his mouth causing her to squeal in surprise.

Scully immediately opens her legs to him more fully, accommodating his hungry mouth as he explores her sex just as he did her mouth. The noises coming from her now only serve to increase the level of euphoria in the air. It's the most sexually gratifying experience of his life, and he's not even inside of her yet.

"_Fuck_, Mulder … I'm gonna—"

And she does. Liberally.

It's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life.

But he doesn't stop, he keeps going until it's clear that she's done and can take no more.

The picture she makes beneath him with her chest heaving as she gasps for air makes his heart flutter and his hips buck. This woman is going to fucking end him.

Pulling down his boxers, he exposes himself to her fully for the first time, rubbing himself up and down her slit and coating himself in her arousal as she watches. As he works his body against hers, her eyes dilate more fully, turning a shade of midnight blue with speckles of green that he's never seen before.

He's so mesmerized by her eyes that he's taken completely by surprise when she flips him over on his back.

Not that he minds.

The visual of her looming over his arousal with lust filled eyes nearly makes him come on the spot, but when he reads the destination in her eyes, he halts her movement.

"As nice as that would be, I wouldn't survive it."

"Maybe next time then."

_Next time. Sweet Jesus, Joseph, and Mary …_

Bracing herself above him with one arm she reaches down to guide him with the other.

"Shoulder feel better?" he asks playfully as she aligns them, poising him at her entrance.

"Oh, several parts of me are about to feel a whole lot better."

Any response he may have made is completely swallowed by the groan that leaves his body when she lowers herself onto him, taking him in one inch at a time until she is buried to the hilt.

She's so fucking tight that he can hardly stand it.

He wants to speak.

He wants to tell her how absolutely gorgeous she is and how fucking amazing that she feels. But words escape him as she readjusts her hands to bracket herself above him, moving on and off of him as she rotates her hips.

Holy fuck, she's talented.

"Scully … _fuck_," he heaves. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last very long."

"That's sort of the idea," she grunts, gyrating against him roughly in order get more pressure through her clit as she rides him.

"I'm … we're not … using anything … _fuck, Scully_."

"I don't need anything. Not with you," she moans, grasping one of his hands and raising it to her breast as she continues to move, increasing her pace as she chases release once again.

Lowering his other hand to circle her clit, he watches the picture forming above him with awe. Scully is coming completely undone riding his dick, and it's the most amazing, beautiful, and erotic thing that he has ever seen.

She comes the second time with a scream, and this time, he can't hold back any longer. Flipping them over, he raises her thighs to rest alongside his chest as he drives into her with wild abandonment, coming in copious spurts as he moans her name.

When it's done, they are both soaking wet and heaving for breath.

Raising up on his elbows to relieve her of some of his body weight, he looks down at her with longing. Looking into her eyes now, Mulder immediately knows one fact with absolute certainty.

There will never be anyone else. Scully is it for him.

They caress, fondle, and whisper in the dark until his body is ready to take her again, and he does — this time, slowly. It's glorious, wonderful, and invigorating. He has never felt more alive than what he feels when he is inside of her.

But as she drifts to sleep in his arms, the cold light of day begins to shine through with a sobering reality. While she may be alive and vibrant in his arms now, she's been given a death sentence. A sentence he can no longer ignore.

He has to find a cure.

He doesn't care who he has to kill, beat, or cheat. He will not watch her die.

For there are sandcastles to be built in the sky.

* * *

Spooky66, I hope that this is exactly what you wanted in your Easter basket! I'm sorry that it's a day late and hope that it was well worth the wait!

Also, a special shout-out to ATTHS_TWICE for giving this an early read and for helping me get it across the finish line! She's the best, so let her know it!


	2. Chapter 2

**THE TRUTH THEY BOTH KNOW**

* * *

This addition to _Sandcastles in the Sky_ was written as a gift for iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor (tumblr) who requested a story where "mulder and scully sleep together before she goes into remission- and then need to deal with once she does go into remission"

Since I had already written the "before she goes into the remission" for the Easter fanfic exchange, I chose to weave this story (chapter) in with this work for the sake of continuity. It's certainly the most angsty thing I've ever written.

A huge thanks to my beta ATTHS_TWICE and OnlyTheInevitable for creating and orchestrating this episode gift exchange.

* * *

_"You're a real piece of work; you know that Mr. Mulder?"_

_"Why is that? Because I don't think the way you think? Because I won't just sit passively by and watch the family tragedy unfold?"_

_"You're the reason for it. And I've already lost one sister to this quest you are on. Now I'm losing another. Has it been worth it? To you, I mean. Have you found what you've been looking for?"_

_"No."_

_"No? You know how that makes me feel?"_

_"In a way, I think I do. I lost someone very close to me. I lost a sister. I lost my father… all because of this thing I'm looking for."_

_"This what? Little green aliens?"_

_"Yeah. Little green aliens."_

_"You're one sorry son of a bitch… Not a whole lot more to say."_

_Redux II (5x02)_

—

Weeks have passed, but Bill Jr.'s words have never strayed far from Mulder's mind. While he is acutely aware of the fact that Bill Jr. is a Class-A-Dick, there is no denying the weight of his words or the lining of truth that encases them.

A better man would have walked away from Dana Scully, but Fox Mulder is not a better man. Bill Jr. had been right about that much.

From the moment she entered his office and shook his hand all those years ago, Mulder had recognized that there was something quite extraordinary about Dana Scully. So instead of treating her like the spy she was sent to be, he confided in her and peaked her scientific curiosities, engrossing her in a world that reached far beyond the accepted bounds of science. In time, his monsters had become her monsters, and the cost to her and her family could not have been higher. The death of her sister, her cancer, and her inability to conceive a child all the direct result of their work on The X Files.

While Mulder had by no means escaped unscathed, Scully and her sister had been innocent.

There was only one factor that connected them to tragedy — him.

Maybe that did make him one sorry son of a bitch, but being one sorry son of a bitch didn't change the truth. And the truth exceeded far beyond the existence of little green men, but there had been no point in trying to explain that to Bill Jr. The one person who did understand was the one person he had hurt the most, and he was no more capable of walking away from her now than he was when he met her nearly four years ago.

Scully's cancer had been the tipping point for which there had been no return.

What started out as a late-night call for assistance in removing a fitted teeshirt over a stiff and uncooperative shoulder had progressed into a weekend-long exploration and obliteration of a line they had both firmly adhered to for nearly four years.

Had it have been restricted to that night alone, it would have been easier to classify as a lapse of judgment or a product of circumstance, but what happened that weekend was neither of those things. That weekend, they had each had their fill time and time again.

No commitments or words of affirmation were exchanged, but the truth had been a poorly kept secret. The emotion that pooled in the depths of her crystal blue eyes as he watched her come undone again and again had relayed the truth to him far more accurately than words could have ever articulated, and there was no doubt in his mind that his eyes and body had returned the sentiment.

He loved her, and she loved him.

What transpired between them wasn't an ill-advised fling. It was an admission, which is why, all these months later, he finds her avoidance of the subject so infuriating. Though she has yet to vocalize her desire for what happened to remain unspoken, she hasn't had to. Her fears and misgivings have been echoed in action.

Prior to her illness, Mulder had always been the one to make the travel arrangements, but now that she has recovered and returned to work full time, she has insisted that she be the one to make them, which has translated into random seats on aircrafts and rooms that are no longer conjoined. Though the concessions made in their new arraignments have undoubtedly saved the department money, Mulder doubts very seriously that keeping the finance committee off of their backs is her only motivation for taking the reigns.

Their effectiveness as a team continues to remain beyond reproach, but there is an uneasy, awkwardness between them that wasn't there before, and it's driving him absolutely insane. The fact that he wants to touch every square inch of her body every time he lays eyes on her is not helping matters either. Now that he has had her, he can think of little else.

All of his attempts to clear the air thus far have been futile, each ending with either a pointed glance or a swift exit. As time has passed, he has slowly regressed into a bitter stage of acceptance. One where he longer pushes the envelope but also has yet to let go.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah," he replies, shifting his attention to Scully.

"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"

"No," he says simply. "Sorry, I was … somewhere else."

Studying him carefully, she sighs.

"Our flight leaves tomorrow at 8 A.M."

"Okay."

"Okay?" she asks, questioning him with her eyes.

Shrugging, he gives her a look of _what_ as he lowers his feet from his desk, stands, and turns to collect his things.

"I'll see you in the morning, Scully."

Mulder doesn't watch her expression as he drapes his coat over his shoulder and turns to walk out the door. The confusion, hurt, and disappointment he knows he will find there is more than he can bear, but he also can't take another rejection. If carrying on as if nothing happened is what she wants, then it's what he will do, but he's done with pretending that it doesn't hurt like hell.

Without another word, he steps out of their office, closing the door behind him.

—

As she watches him leave without a word, everything inside of her screams. Not because she is angry at him, but because she is angry with herself. Mulder, for once, is not at fault. He hadn't been the one to initiate sex. She had.

That night, he had tried to be the voice of reason, questioning her state of mind and what it would mean for their future. At the time, it had stung, coming across as a friendly form of rejection. She was, after all, naked and giving him permission to touch her, but even as he eyed her naked form with lustful appreciation, he had asked her if she was sure. No other man, when presented with the same scenario, had ever asked her that. The others had just taken what she offered without question. But not Mulder.

_"I think our bodies know exactly what they want, but do our minds? This can't… it can't just be a thing, Scully… you mean too much to me. I can't be your Ed Jerse. I won't survive it."_

Leaning back in her chair, Scully closes her eyes and rubs her temples. She can still hear his voice and feel his hands. The mere thought of being with him again causes her core to dampen and clench. What transpired between them that weekend was something beyond anything she has ever experienced before. The passion bottled within him had exceeded even her most erotic fantasies.

He had ensured that she got hers over and over again.

He hadn't fucked her. He had made love to her.

And what she saw in his eyes as he did had both startled and entrapped her. Scully wasn't the prude ice queen others had made her out to be. She had seen her fair share of greedy hands and lust-filled eyes. Scully liked sex, but what she had with Fox Mulder back in May wasn't sex. It was something else. Something far more meaningful and transcending — and it scared the ever-living hell out of her.

In medical school, Scully had thought she had found love. It took being with Mulder for her to realize that what she settled for was a cheap imitation. What she felt in his touch and saw in his eyes had completely erased the ones that had come before him. She knew now that nobody else would ever compare. He was it. But instead of embracing and indulging, she was running.

Hanging her head in a combination of frustration and shame, she sighs, stands, gathers her things, and heads for the door.

—

Plopping down on the couch, Mulder listens to the gurgle of the aquarium beside him and tries to get comfortable. He knows he shouldn't have left the way he did. He's sulking like a love-sick teenager, but the restless fury within him won't allow him to settle. He told her that he wouldn't survive being her Ed Jerse, and yet that is precisely how she is treating him.

But as he sits in his apartment alone, he recognizes that he has nobody to blame other than himself.

After Diana, Mulder made a promise to himself that he would never again become involved with someone he worked with professionally. But what he shares with Scully isn't a simple matter of involvement. It's more complex than that. It always has been, and he suspects that it always will be.

Diana left him in pursuit of her own ambitions, and Mulder had made no attempt to stop her. There had been no cursing, tears, ripped pictures, or broken glass. Her choosing her career over him had stung, but Mulder had long become accustomed to being the one that was left behind. In her absence, he had done what he has always done. He buried himself in his work, and he hadn't looked back.

But Scully wasn't Diana.

Scully was unlike anyone he had ever known — a magnet of unknown origin.

When they had leaped into the unknown, she had told him she wanted something passionate, loving, and real… something that would make her feel alive again. Yet, here he was, sitting alone on his couch, rejected and alone. Had she truly meant those things? Or had it been the cancer talking?

Deep down, he knew the truth. He suspected they both did. Perhaps that was the problem.

Tilting his head back and looking up and the ceiling, he sighs in frustration and clenches his fists. He's such a fucking coward. While she has certainly avoided his passive attempts to discuss this thing between them, he hasn't made any genuine attempt to pin her down on the issue. Instead, he has sulked and taken her changes of subject and hasty exits at the end of the workday as rejection.

He knows Scully well, and he knows what he saw in her eyes that weekend. Yet, here he is, sitting alone on his couch because he hasn't found the courage to tell her what he wants.

Scully had been bold enough to drop her towel. She had taken the first leap. Perhaps it was time for him to lead.

Having made a decision, he stands, not bothering to grab his coat or lock the door as he leaves.

—

When she hears her front door open without a knock, her first instinct is to panic. But her sense of panic is immediately over-ridden with irritation when she hears her name and identifies its source.

"Scully?" he says again.

"I'm taking a bath, Mulder," she says loudly, her voice echoing through the apartment.

Before she can say anything more, the door is opening, and he is coming in.

"Jesus, Mulder. What the hell?"

"We need to talk."

"Now? Here? Are you fucking kidding me?" she asks, the water sloshing around her as she draws her knees up to her chest in an attempt to cover herself.

"I think _here_ and _now_ couldn't be any more appropriate, given the topic," he says, reaching for the towel hanging on the rail alongside the tub.

The fact that he's offering her something to cover herself doesn't escape her attention, but she's too angry at his invasion of her privacy to see anything other than red.

"So, because we've had sex, that just automatically gives you permission to come into my apartment without knocking and storm in on me when I'm in the ba—"

"I used a key _you_ gave me, and I didn't knock because I feared you wouldn't answer the door if I did."

"Muld—"

"And as for interrupting your bath, I'm here to talk, not to …" he says, splaying his arms to complete a thought he has lost the courage to vocalize.

"Oh? And that makes this okay?"

For a moment, he doesn't respond, his gaze holding hers.

"My eyes have not left yours," he says finally, as if that somehow makes his invasion into her home and bathroom more acceptable.

Sighing, she closes her eyes and tilts her head down towards the water.

"What do you want, Mulder?" she asks quietly.

"I want to talk about it."

He doesn't specify what _it_ is, but he doesn't have to. The white elephant to which he refers has traveled with them for nearly six months and doesn't require definition.

"Mulder …"

"It wasn't just sex to me, Scully. I told you… I told you from the very beginning that I couldn't be your Ed Jerse… that I wouldn't survive it."

"Mulder I—" she starts to say, but he's not done.

"Was it just a distraction for you? Did it only happen because you thought you were dying? And everything you said… did you just say it because you didn't think you'd live long enough for the truth to matter?"

By the time he's done, her breathing has deepened, and tears are collecting in her eyes. But she doesn't let them fall. She holds them in check, her resolve hardening with each and every word he utters.

How dare he.

How dare he come into her home and accuse her of using him to get off because she was lonely and thought she was dying.

If he couldn't see what was right in front of him, then perhaps it was him that needed to fuck off. Not her.

"Get out."

"Scul—"

"Get. Out," she says, her tone and glare filling the room with a level of tension that doesn't invite inquisition or rebuttal.

He opens his mouth to speak but then thinks better of it, his face transitioning from a state of hurt to fury as he turns to leave.

She doesn't allow the first tear to fall until she hears the front door slam.

—

If he hadn't have been one sorry son of a bitch before, he certainly is now.

He had gone to her apartment intending to take the lead and clear the air, but finding her soaking in the tub had been his undoing. The discomfort and fear he saw swimming in her eyes as he stood over her and offered her a towel had foreshadowed rejection, not resolution. And with that, his resolve had crumbled. Until that very moment, he had never questioned what that weekend meant to her. But now, he is questioning everything.

Flopping down on the couch and opening a beer, he stares at the blank screen of his TV and feels more alone than he has ever felt in his life. The Mulder before Scully would have wound down with a Shiner Blok and a video from his collection, but that was Mulder before Scully. Mulder after Scully no longer found pleasure in jerking off to naughty secretaries. The dollar menu was no longer capable of holding his interest, not after having experienced what the steakhouse had to offer.

One beer turned into two and then three. After the fourth, he stopped counting.

At some point, sleep overtakes him, but he doesn't recall falling asleep or how late he was up. All he knows now is the pounding pulses of pain in his temples.

As he stirs, it takes him a moment to orient himself.

Dim hues of light flicker in through the blinds allowing him to observe the empty bottles that line the coffee table. He briefly wonders why he feels so heavy, but that becomes more clear when he rolls to his side and sees the bottles that line the floor.

_Fuck_, he mumbles, clutching his head and rubbing his eyes.

The sound of a key turning in the lock suddenly resonates, startling him into action and sending him clamoring onto the floor as he reaches for his gun on the far edge of the coffee table.

Just as his hand settles on the grip, a familiar voice echoes through the room, causing the gun to slip from his grasp and onto the floor beside him.

"Mulder?!" Scully exclaims, not bothering to close the door behind her as she rushes across the room and crouches down by his side. "Jesus, are you—"

He's not looking at her, but he can feel her taking in the scene. She hadn't needed to complete her question. The bottles that surround them tell a story that leaves little up for interpretation. Placing the dorsum of her hand along his forehead, she runs her fingers through his hair and goes through the process of checking his temperature and vitals.

"We need to get you up off the floor," she says quietly.

Nodding, he does what he can to help her as she steadies him and walks him back to the couch.

Once she has him safely seated, she takes another look around the room, brings her hand to her temple and sighs. Unable to stomach the mixture of emotions crossing her face, he drops his head in his hands and awaits whatever comes next. The ring of her cell phone breaks the deafening silence between them, delaying any further comments or conversation.

"Scully," she answers.

"Yes, sir, he's here. He's… he's not well sir. I think it's a virus of some kind or perhaps the flu… he's severely dehydrated and a bit out of it."

She's silent for a moment as she listens to their boss on the other end of the line.

Fuck, he thinks. They had an 8 A.M. flight this morning.

Braving a look over at his desk, he notes that it is now 9:17 A.M.

"I'd like to take the day as well, sir," she says.

Though he can't hear exactly what Skinner is saying, it's clear that his absence this morning has triggered a string of alarms. He likely has numerous missed calls both on his landline and cell. Calls he was clearly too out of it to hear, let alone respond to.

"I'll call in a few scripts and keep an eye on him. If he's not well enough to travel in the morning, I'll fly to Charleston alone first thing in the morning to consult on the Burgle investigation… Yes, sir. Please give the locals my regards."

Braving a look up, he finds her pivoting anxiously on her feet as she thanks their boss and ends the call. For a moment, she says nothing, holding his gaze as her phone follows her hand into the depths of her pocket.

She opens her mouth to speak but then closes it, shaking her head from side to side and sighing as she reaches down and begins to pick up the bottles from the coffee table and floor. Aside from the sounds of glass hitting glass, the room is silent.

When the minutes continue to tick by without further comment from Scully, Mulder relents, unable to take the silence and crisp air of judgment any longer.

"I'm sorry, Scully."

The heat brewing in her eyes as she turns to face him takes him by surprise. He had known she was angry, but it becomes clear very quickly that he had grossly underestimated the depth of her anger. This was angry Scully. This was pissed Scully.

"For which part?" she asks, her voice rising. "Barging into my apartment last night while I was naked and soaking in the tub and calling me a whore? Or for scaring the shit out of me this morning when you didn't show up at the airport and weren't answering either of your phones?"

"Scully, I never—"

Knowing exactly what he's about to say, she dredges on, not missing a beat.

"And before you say that you did not say or insinuate anything along those lines, I want you to think about how exactly I was supposed to translate your inquisition concerning my motives for inviting you to my bed. A decision that, apparently, you believe occurred for my pleasure and my pleasure alone. Think that over and then tell me exactly how you would have translated that conversation had our roles been reversed."

He opens his mouth to speak but then closes it.

Even with his head pounding and the room spinning, he sees her point, and she's not wrong.

When she crosses the room and opens the blinds, he folds his head back into his hands and moans, but his complaint stops there. Whatever hell she's about to unleash on him, he undoubtedly deserves, so instead of demanding that she close the blinds, he keeps his head bowed and remains silent.

Keeping track of her whereabouts by sound, he estimates that she's cleaned up a good portion of the mess he made in the living room. Though he's not exactly sure how many beers he had, his current condition and the number of clinks he has heard hit the trash bin suggest it far exceeded six. When he hears the refrigerator open, he groans again.

The sound of popping tops and fluid being poured down the drain carries across the room and is followed by a few more sharp clinks. Whatever alcohol was left, is officially gone now.

A few moments later, he hears the pitter-patter of her feet as she walks towards him and places what he assumes to be a glass of water on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. The fact that she has removed her shoes would comfort him a lot more if he couldn't still feel the heat radiating off of her body.

"You should drink some water and take these," she says, taking a seat next to him on the couch.

Her voice is quieter now but still has a crisp edge to it that warns of danger.

Raising his head a bit, he squints against the light, opening his hand to accept the pills she offers him and gulping them down with a single swallow.

Silence engulfs them as they sit side-by-side.

"I really am sorry, Scully. For all of it. You deserve better. You've always deserved better."

To this, she says nothing.

He's not looking at her, but he can feel her hesitance. It's a hesitance that lets him know that everything inside of her wants to speak, but instead, she remains silent, keeping her emotions in check as she waits.

"When you were in the hospital, your brother came and spoke to me while you were sleeping… he… he said a couple of things that have stuck with me."

"God," she moans, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. "Do I even want to know?"

"Well, you'll be happy to know that he shares your view on extraterrestrials," he says, smirking.

Snorting, she looks up at him and shakes her head from side to side before looking back down at her hands.

"He also said I was one sorry son of a bitch."

"Mulder…" she sighs, her eyes rising to meet his.

"He's not entirely wrong, you know. Everything I touch suffers. It always has."

"That's not true," she says quietly.

"Isn't it though? You're brilliant, Scully," he says, taking a deep breath.

His eyes drift down the table to study the rings that his chilled beers left behind, but despite his pounding head and light-sensitive eyes, he keeps speaking because what he has to say needs to be said.

"And now, instead of being on track to run the FBI, you are down in the basement with me. You've lost so much… your sister… your health… all for me. For my quest. My truth."

At first, she says nothing, but eventually, she reaches across her body and places her hand over his.

"I still wouldn't change a day."

Her voice is quiet and calm, but there is an underlying wave of sadness to it that makes his stomach drop. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she stands and makes her way over to the corner of the room where her shoes and coat lie waiting for her.

"You're leaving?" he asks, doing little to hide the panic rising inside of him.

"Yes."

"Scul—"

"We aren't going to have this conversation when you are hungover and can barely hold your head up. You need to shower and get some sleep. I'm going to go home and do the same."

"Scully, I'm—"

"You should clean out your fridge," she says, clearing her throat. "I was scared to dig too deeply into the mystery, but something in there has either died or transformed."

Surprised by the change in subject and demeanor, he studies her movement and expression carefully, questioning her with his eyes. But Scully doesn't respond to his unspoken question. Instead, she averts her eyes, finding something of interest in the fish tank as she puts on her coat and slips on her shoes.

"I'll order you some takeout on my way home. Drinking a few glasses of water and eating something not originating from your refrigerator will help."

Mulder starts to object, but the look she gives him silences him. The fire he saw reflected in her eyes earlier has dissipated significantly, but the underlying message is still the same — to remain safe is to remain silent.

Just when he thinks she is going to leave without another word, she pauses, her back to him and her hand on the door.

"You're not a sorry son of a bitch, Mulder," she says quietly. "This would be so much easier if you were."

She doesn't turn to meet his eyes or give him a chance to respond as she steps out into the hallway and closes the door. The click of her heels and ding of the elevator serve as her bid goodbye, leaving him with only one fleeting thought.

_This_, what the fuck does _this_ mean?

—

The next morning, Scully finds Mulder waiting for her outside of her apartment with her favorite brand of coffee in hand. As infuriating as the man can be, he can also be quite thoughtful and charming when the occasion calls, especially when he is well aware of the fact that he is in the doghouse. She had covered for him the day before without a second thought. Even as angry as she was at him for pushing the boundaries of their relationship and demanding that she talk before she was ready, the idea of leaving him hanging out to dry in front of their boss had never even occurred to her.

To an outsider looking in, Mulder appears no worse for the wear as they make their way through security and stow their carry ons in the overhead compartment, but Scully knows him far too well to miss the heaviness in his step. He was keeping himself in check, but yesterday's events were clearly weighing just as heavily his mind as they were hers.

Mulder hadn't been entirely wrong in what he said to her two nights prior. Sure, he could have knocked first and polished his diplomacy a bit, but his underlying grievances weren't unfounded.

On the night in question, he had been the one to cool things down and question the wisdom of what she was asking of him.

_"Are you sure, Scully? Absolutely sure?"_

In response, she had reassured him in the one way she knew he wouldn't be able to resist. And because of that, he had every right to be frustrated with the silence and avoidance that followed. That point aside, he couldn't be more wrong about her motives. She hadn't invited him into her bed on a lonely night to scratch an itch. She had invited him to her bed because she wanted him and had wanted him for years.

The factor she failed to account for was the depth at which he wanted her. As he had entered her and searched her eyes, a switch had been flicked somewhere deep within her — a switch that could not be ignored or restored to default. To complicate matters even further, she had watched as the same switch had flicked within him.

The admission that passed between them at that moment had been a quiet one, but not having vocalized it hadn't made it any less significant.

Now, all these months later, Scully still finds herself at a loss for words.

In the past, continuing on as if nothing happened had served as a silent handshake of sorts — a truce between partners. But this was different. With this, there was no reverting to the way things were before. There was no longer a before. There was only after.

Selling it as anything else would be a lie. But the question currently weighing on Scully's mind isn't if her partnership with Mulder can survive a lie, it's if it can withstand the truth.

—

They arrive in Charleston shortly after 10:00 A.M. and are immediately ushered to police headquarters where they are brought in to observe the interrogation of Fred Burgle, a man who continues to assert that something unworldly was responsible for the disappearance of his wife and two children three nights prior. It was just the type of case Mulder needed to get his juices flowing. He knew work would not completely alleviate the tension between him and Scully, but it certainly had served to take the edge off. The hum of frustration that still lulled between them, however, had not gone entirely unnoticed.

"Lover's quarrel?" a local asked him.

Mulder gave him a sharp glance to discourage any further inquisition, but from that point forward, he made it a point to watch his body language around Scully. The last thing either of them needed was for a question along those lines to be relayed to Scully directly. She had, after all, shot a man for less.

The Burgle investigation ended up turning into a four-day excursion when the bodies of Burgle's wife and two children turned up in a landfill nearly 60 miles away with not a single scratch, contusion, or abrasion on them. This discovery was further complicated by the fact that Burgle had been in police custody during the timeframe in which the bodies were suspected to have been dumped.

The lack of forensic evidence and no apparent cause of death had not made Scully's job any easier, but that was the nature of their work. There was science, and then there was that which could not be explained.

In the end, there was little to no evidence to connect Fred Burgle to the mysterious deaths of his wife and children, resulting in him being released from police custody. But Burgle's insistence that something not of this world had taken his wife and children and his erratic behavior in the community following his release lead him straight to the psychiatric ward where he was heavily medicated and effectively silenced.

Mulder found the entire process infuriating, but with there being little to no evidence to support Burgle's claim, there was little to do other than file their report and catch a flight back to D.C.

By the time they land in D.C., it's well past 9:00 P.M. and they are both exhausted.

Given the tension between them, he's hesitant to offer Scully a ride home, fearing what the offer might infer. But to his surprise, she accepts his offer rather than insisting on calling a cab.

Mulder had anticipated something resembling an arctic blast as soon as they had landed in D.C., but rather than avoiding him, Scully appears to be biding her time.

His suspicions are confirmed when they arrive at her apartment.

Rather than grabbing her things and disappearing into the night, she remains seated, staring out the window and fidgeting with her keys as if she's contemplating quantum physics. Not knowing what to say or how to react to the change in her demeanor, he opts to remain silent and wait. Seemingly pleased with his patience, Scully turns her head and gives him her eyes.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mulder?" she asks.

Nodding, he shuts off the car and grabs her bag from the back seat, rounding the car to walk up the sidewalk with her and waving her off as she reaches to take her bag.

Neither one of them speaks as they enter her building. With his hands full, he follows closely behind her and waits for her to unlock the door and turn on a few lights. Not wanting to intrude beyond his welcome, he lays her carryon at the mouth of the hallway that leads back to her bedroom and then takes a seat on the couch.

The apartment is silent apart from Scully's movement in the kitchen, but instead of attempting to fill the silence. He waits.

"Hazelnut or Pumpkin Spice?" she asks from in the kitchen.

"Hazelnut."

A few more minutes pass before she appears from behind with two steaming cups of hot coffee. Setting them down on the coffee table, she moves a pillow aside and takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, folding her feet beneath her and then placing the pillow in her lap. Once settled, she reaches for her coffee and gently blows over the surface, taking a cautious sip as she glances over the top of her cup at him.

Following her lead, Mulder picks up his cup and sips. It's too hot to drink quickly or hold comfortably, so he places it back on the coaster and leans back into the couch. When he turns to face her again, he finds her studying him.

"Do you really think it meant nothing to me?" she asks.

A bit taken aback by her directness, he searches her eyes for clues as to where her emotions lie, but she gives him nothing.

"No," he replies honestly.

"Then why ask me?" she asks, placing her coffee cup back on the table. "Why ask me a question you already know the answer to?"

Taking a moment to choose his words carefully, he continues to study her, hoping to determine where this is going, but again, she gives him nothing.

"I think… more than anything," he says carefully, "I just wanted some form of acknowledgment that it wasn't just one lonely night… that it meant as much to you as it did to me… that you felt it too."

His words, though spoken softly, pack a punch, charging the room with a buzz of electricity that wasn't there before. Mulder knows that Scully feels it too, for the tears brewing in corners of her eyes are doing little to hide the depth of emotion and longing flowing through her veins as she holds his gaze.

Leaning forward, he grabs several tissues from the kleenex box on the corner of the coffee table and hands them to her, but instead of using them to dot at her eyes, Scully picks at them, blinking back her tears as she averts her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Scul—"

"It wasn't," she replies softly, interrupting him. "It wasn't just a lonely night."

Nodding, he swallows thickly, unsure of what to say or how he should respond.

He wants to be elated.

He wants to crawl across the couch, run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her until neither of them can breathe, but he does neither of those things. Instead, he waits.

"I did think I was going to die, but that wasn't why I… why we…"

"Had sex?" he offers.

The smirk that crosses her lips as he says it gives him the permission he needed to smile and laugh lightly and a wave of relief washes over him when her soft laughter joins his. The lightness of the moment, however, is short-lived, quickly sobering as she shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

Her admission that it meant something to her too settled him tremendously, but there is still something there. Something that she is holding back.

"What are you scared of, Scully?" he asks quietly.

She doesn't answer immediately, but she does give him her eyes as she ponders his question. Holding her gaze, he waits as she searches his eyes.

"The truth."

"And what might that be?"

This time she doesn't answer with words. Instead, she leans forward and closes the gap between them. Before he has time to accost himself for not meeting her halfway, her lips are on his, and all rational thought flees.

For the first few moments, her lips merely rest on his, but the soft, sweet tenderness of it doesn't last as their mouths begin to move in sync and passion consumes them. Within a matter of minutes, she is straddling his lap, and his hands are running along her back and through her hair. It's been months since they've touched each other, but they have by no means forgotten how.

His shirt is the first to go with her sweater following quickly after. They aren't in a rush, but they don't take their time either. When it comes time to remove the final barriers that separate them, they move to the bedroom.

As magical as the first few times had been, there was still an element of awkwardness to them. Mulder suspected that some of it had to do with Scully being uncomfortable with the amount of weight she lost following the chemo treatments. He had done everything shy of worshiping the ground she walked on, but there had still been an uneasy shyness about her as his eyes had raked over her, but tonight as he loves her, he sees no trace of the shy, insecure woman who had pulled him into bed six months ago.

When he enters her, he sees the same look in her eyes that he saw before. While neither of them is quite ready to say the words, the truth is there for both of them to see. It's a truth they both know.

—

Sweat clings to her body in every crevice, but she has no regrets.

No. Dana Scully is completely and utterly satisfied in the best possible way.

"Wow," he says in a voice filled with both satisfaction and awe. "It wasn't just a dream."

Chuckling softly as she runs her fingertips lightly over his chest, she nuzzles her head deeper into his embrace and smiles.

"No, I'm afraid the dreams don't quite compare."

Following their weekend of smut-filled fuckery months earlier, Scully had questioned if it had truly been as good as she remembered it being, or if she was just horny and lonely enough in the weeks and months that followed to fill in the muscle memory with fantasy.

Now, as she lays splayed across his chest completely sated, she is again reminded that fantasy and all previous notions of fantasy hadn't held a candle to Fox Mulder. While this certainly wasn't at the forefront of her mind when she invited him up. She has no regrets.

"Oh, I don't know, Scully. I've had some _really_ nice dreams over the years."

Lifting her head to meet his eyes briefly, she raises her brow at him and smirks.

"Is that so?" she asks, chuckling softly. "Do tell."

"Sometimes, I dream of being on the beach."

"Mmmm… and what's on the beach?"

"Big, beautiful, rounded, and perfectly crafted works of art."

"This is beginning to sound more like one of those videos in your apartment."

"Videos?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

"Yes, you know, the ones that don't belong you."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

To this, she snorts, giving his side a pinch that is just hard enough to make him jump.

"Owww…"

"So what does this art you speak of entail?"

"Well, the build-up takes time, creativity, and dedication to detail."

"Oh, is that so?"

The entire time he's speaking her hands wander.

"Mmmmm… but in the end, the big picture it creates is worth the effort."

"Big, huh?"

"Well, not just any size will do. It needs to stand at least three to four feet tall to draw attention to itself."

"Three to four feet tall?" she asks, raising her head again, her eyes wide.

"The small ones are child's play, Scully."

"Okay, now I know we are talking about the videos."

"I mean, I guess you could film the process if you wanted to, but it's not something that you can do quickly. Not if you want to do it right."

"Mulder…"

"What you really need are various sizes of buckets, sticks, and shovels."

Realization dawns on her in a rush.

Her first reaction is to smack him across the chest, but she can't stop the deep laughter that escapes her when she realizes what he's actually referencing.

"Sandcastles, Mulder. _Really_?"

Laughter reverberates through him as he draws her closer, intertwining his legs with hers and running his fingers through hair.

"Well, they aren't your standard sand sculptures, Scully. They are large, elaborate and bear a remarkable resemblance to an alien spacecraft."

"I'm going to ask you to stop talking now," she says, her voice laced with sleep and mocked annoyance.

"You would like them."

"Only you would have a dream about sand-built UFOs and lump that in with erotica."

They share a laugh as their hands continue to caress. Shifting his weight, he moves to reposition them, spooning her from behind as he lightly kisses her shoulder and neck.

"I don't need erotic dreams. Not when I have you," he says, his breath tickling her neck as he speaks.

Taking his hand in hers, she wraps herself tightly in his embrace and kisses his hand.

"Goodnight, Mulder," she says softly.

"_Sweet dreams_, Scully."

Another burst of laughter erupts, followed by a playful smack, and then softer laughter.

As they slowly slip into a peaceful slumber, Scully finds herself contemplating the future — a future where she will be brave enough to build sandcastles in the sky.

—

A puff of smoke temporarily blocks the view of the two figures on the screen as they settle into a peaceful slumber.

"Well, this certainly changes things."

"Yes... yes, it most certainly does."

* * *

**AN:** Yeah, I did that. I threw in a bit of CC, you know, for science. Bhahahaha. But, in all seriousness, I have ALWAYS thought there was more to the lonely night quote in The Truth (9x19) than just the shock of Scully realizing that they had been watched. The way Scully reacts when she hears that particular phrase has always suggested to me that it was a moment of significance, which would also explain her apparent certainty that he wasn't bluffing. So here you have it - my lonely night headcanon, packaged and wrapped up in the cancer arc.


End file.
